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The Day I Knew I Had to Leave
My first panic attack was my wake-up call.
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The first time I had a panic attack, I was 16.
Up until that moment, I had done everything right. Straight As. Scholarships. Trophies. My teachers praised me. My parents beamed with pride. I told myself that was enough — that as long as I kept excelling, I’d be happy.
Dad was struggling financially, but he never let it touch us. No matter what, education came first. It was the foundation, the escape, the one thing that could never be compromised in my house.
So when my teachers told me I had the potential to crack IIT (one of India’s most prestigious engineering institutes, often called the Harvard of India), I nodded along. They said I had what it took. Maybe they were right. Maybe I could do it.
The plan was laid out for me — join a coaching center in 11th and 12th grade, study relentlessly, crack the competitive exams, and step into a secure future. That was the dream, right?
Even getting into a coaching institute here wasn’t easy. I had to sit for an entrance test.
I cleared it. Rank 20. A 75% scholarship.
